


One Shot, One Kill

by Rynmoirai



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Making Out, Marriage Proposal, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Pet Names, Pietro Maximoff Lives, Reader is bisexual, Reader-Insert, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark is Needy as Fuck, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 05:15:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15405771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynmoirai/pseuds/Rynmoirai
Summary: As a mutant with the ability to shapeshift into anyone at anytime, being an anonymous agent for hire had just made sense—especially with your extensive background in undercover work. Sure, you've gotten your hands dirty from time to time when the need's arisen, but you've always preferred dealing in information more than anything else. Roughly two years ago, one of your long-standing employers, Nick Fury, had decided to hand your dossier over to The Avengers as a person of interest, should they ever need an extra set of hands on a mission.Since then, they've requested your help nearly once a month—and they pay so well that you've practically stopped taking other jobs. And curiously, after refusing to interact with you directly for most of your working relationship, Tony Stark makes you an offer unlike any other, and it's one that you can't possibly refuse...--Or a series of Reader-Insert one-shots that will be updated as I have the time to do so! :) They will all have the same background premise/reader, things will just end up VERY differently in each one based on who you seduce! (Note: Reader is bi/pansexual as I plan on writing for some of the ladies, too. They don't get enough love.) ♥





	One Shot, One Kill

**Author's Note:**

> Tony turned out needier than I intended but I think it works? I spent way too much time on this. Also mostly cutesy, fluff-type stuff with smut at the end because honestly I just want to write things that make people (and myself) feel good/happy! I hope you guys enjoy! ♥
> 
> Pepper, Pietro, and Vision are mentioned but never actually make an appearance, so they were not tagged.
> 
> Edit: Reader's name should be fixed for maximum self-insert, but if not, please let me know!

You slip your ID back into your clutch as you step past the security guard, trying not to let the surprise show on your face as you walk into the hotel’s exorbitant lounge. Tony had apparently paid for one of the most expensive rooms in the place and put it under both of your names just so you could meet him for a drink, which seems like an atrocious waste of money since neither of you would even be staying in it. But, after being acquainted with him for the last couple years, you should probably know that’s just how he works sometimes.

 

After a moment of hesitation near the entrance, you pull one of the many phones you use for work out of your purse to look over the messages between the two of you—mostly for your own sanity.

 

 **_Tony:_ ** _Need a favor. Meet me here at 11am tomorrow. Be yourself._

 

The link after the message was to some ritzy hotel on the other side of town, and had made you pause before answering; he could’ve just as easily invited you over to the new Avengers complex. Your responses to his request were your paltry attempts at trying to squeeze additional information out of him, but he was refusing to answer any of your questions and kept insisting for you meet him here if you wanted an explanation.

 

As a free-operating mercenary with very loose ties to SHIELD, if you can even call yourself _that_ , Fury had introduced you to Tony Stark and Steve Rogers nearly two years beforehand. He had transferred your dossier to each of their devices as you shook Steve’s hand and smiled politely at Tony when he had refused the gesture. Since then, Steve has requested your help on at least two dozen missions, but Tony had never wanted your help even once. If he ever _did_ need help, it was always Steve or Pepper that brought you in.

 

So, here you are now in a fancy hotel bar wearing one of your most expensive dresses, feeling out of place simply because Tony had asked that you not use one of your many aliases, to not hide your face. You weren’t uncomfortable in your skin, but you were definitely used to shapeshifting before meeting with any of them. It was a way to protect both yourself and the Avenger involved.

 

“ _Breaking news: Pepper Potts has put out a statement confirming her and Tony Stark’s amicable separation. Rumors first arose nearly a week ago when the ring on her finger wasn’t present during one of their press conferences. So what does this mean for Mr. Stark and Stark Industries? Well, ladies, it means he’s definitely on the market again first and foremost—_ ”

 

 _Vultures_ , you think bitterly, finally sliding onto a barstool and turning away from the ridiculously large television hanging on the opposite wall as it continues its gossip-mongering. Their potential breakup was the only thing _anyone_ on the news had been talking about; they’ve all been so quick to jump at the chance to tear down two of the most powerful people in all of New York City. It leaves a queasy feeling in your stomach, and you’re sure that whatever Tony wants to speak about today has something to do with their split and the media’s frenzy surrounding it.

 

“What can I get for you today, ma’am?” the bartender asks, breaking you out of your contemplation. She places a towel on the glass countertop, giving it a quick wipe down as she awaits your answer. She’s cute, and you get a nice view of the tattoos lining her arms as they flex with the motion.

 

“Two Old Fashioneds, please, and will you open a tab for me?” you reply with a flutter of your eyelashes and a smile, taking one of the many cards out of your wallet and handing it over to her. She accepts it, but the moment she reads your name she laughs and shakes her head.

 

“Someone’s already paying for your tab.” She winks, setting the card down in front of you before moving off to make your drinks. You sigh, slipping it into your purse after stuffing it back into your wallet.

 

 _Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Dammit, Stark, what are you playing at?_ You ruminate over the possibilities as you wait, chewing at your painted lips. The glasses full of amber liquid are eventually placed in front of you just as you see Tony Stark slip himself onto the stool next to you. He looks as put-together as ever: crisp suit, hair perfectly styled, silver-and-gold watch on his left arm.

 

But, you note with a bit of sadness, there are dark circles under his sunken eyes—more than usual, and his breath smells faintly of alcohol already. “Tony,” you say his name softly as you move closer to him, “you look terrible.”

 

He snorts as you push both glasses of whiskey towards him, already regretting your choice at buying him a peace offering. “You can tell? Everyone keeps asking me how I can look so well-off when I’ve just lost the love of my life. As if I’m supposed to become some hermit that doesn’t leave the the compound. Like I can’t function without her.”

 

“Is that why you wanted to meet here?”

 

He refuses to look you in the eye as he downs an entire drink. “Kind of. Mostly I just needed to be away from the pitying stares and paparazzi.” The two of you let a silence lapse as Tony sips the other drink, looking more miserable by the second. You resist the urge to reach out and take his hand, to tell him that you’re there for him even though the two you don’t know each other very well. It’s likely something he’s heard a million times, and he just said he doesn’t want pity.

 

Besides, he knows about your power to read people’s biochemistry through skin-on-skin contact. You always try to ask permission first when you aren’t wearing gloves—which, you admit, is often. You couldn’t control it or choose not to do it; the best you’ve managed to do is make it insignificant background noise. You’d likely go mad otherwise, mind constantly filled with what the barstool, countertop, and the clothes that you’re wearing are made of.

 

“What do you need of me?” you offer up instead of your condolences, hoping that bringing him to the task at hand will wipe that terrible look off of his face. His dark eyes focus once again and he turns his full attention back to you as he takes a deep, unsteady breath.

 

He says your full name mechanically, like he’s reading it off of a piece of paper. “(Y/N) (L/N). Notable skills include analytical chemistry via touch, matter manipulation, shapeshifting, espionage, and assassination. Refuses to join any military organization despite all of them coveting your abilities. Adopted by renowned SHIELD agents when you were a child and honed to be the perfect weapon beside your new siblings.” He rattles off the key points of your dossier as if he’s memorized it, making you shift somewhat uncomfortably next to him. “Your brother killed most of your family—”

 

“Tony,” you say to stop him, feeling anger rocket up your lungs and into your throat where it promptly dies, simmering out bitterly. No reaction is ever revealed on your face. “Sensitive information, remember? There was a big, highlighted line that said to never bring up my family. Unless, of course, you also want to talk about yours?” Maybe reminding him about his unpleasant past will make him realize that yours wasn’t any better, and that it’s not something you want to talk about, especially out here in the open.

 

“Right, sorry. I’m such an ass,” he mutters nervously, looking mortified as he spins one of the empty glasses on the bar around in his hands. The bartender comes over and takes it, leaving a fresh one in its wake. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you this and I haven’t been able to. You know I have a reputation…”

 

You quirk your lips up into a little smirk, the tightening in your chest having faded. “Oh, you have many of _those_ , Tony Stark, but remind me which one we’re talking about again?”

 

“The public is used to seeing me with...a woman,” he hesitates, flashing you an unsure look. “I’m used to being seen with one, but…” He stops, unable to go on. You watch his adam’s apple bob as he works through his emotions, taking a nip from the new glass of whiskey in front of him.

 

“Pepper,” you murmur, suddenly understanding. “You don’t want to hurt her.” _Or yourself_ , you think, folding your hands delicately atop the clutch in your lap. _I forgot how vast your pride was, Stark, but I suppose there’s a heart of gold in there somewhere, hmm?_

 

“Yes,” he rumbles, a deep and shaky sigh leaving his lips. “You can be anyone at any time and I trust you. So, my proposition is this: be the woman I take to all of these public events, but never the same woman twice. Be available whenever I need you. That means moving in with the Avengers, at least temporarily until all of this blows over. I’ll buy you everything you need, anything you want.”

 

You’re honestly trying to wrap your head around the situation. “You...want me to be your sugar baby, just without the sex?” you deadpan, trying not to let loose the giggling that’s threatening to escape from your mouth. It sounds so absurd, but he seems sincere and a little put out by your teasing.

 

“Ugh, don’t say it like that,” Tony cringes as his cheeks go slightly red, “I’m being serious, (Y/N). Pouring my heart out to you and all that. Asking for your help. I don’t do this often, if ever.”

 

“Apologies,” you reply coolly, already regretting your words. _Inappropriate, (Y/N), come on, you know better_. _He’s never once asked you for anything, and he’s so fucking sad. God, my heart hurts just looking at those puppy eyes. Where did he learn to make those? Steve?_ You make up your mind, pushing some of your elegantly curled hair behind your shoulder. “I accept, but only under one condition. You pay the rent for my apartment while I’m staying with you. I need somewhere to go back to when you inevitably figure out that I’m insufferable to live with and get tired of my bullshit.”

 

He rolls his eyes, but gives a sloppy nod of his head. “Fine, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

 

“Good. Pay the tab and let’s get the hell out of here. I’m already reading the news headlines now. _Tony Stark seen meeting with dangerous mercenary, (Y/N) (L/N)! What could he want from her? Our sources say she works outside of the law and is known for her high body count. Is Mr. Stark doing something illegal? Is it murder, or were they on a morning rendezvous? Find out tonight at 10!_ ” Tony groans as you stand up to fix your dress, sending him a devious, little grin.

 

Half an hour later, the two of you are walking through the reception area of the Avengers complex; you’ve been here quite a few times in the past, though it was normally under Steve’s request. Tony had insisted you take his private car back, and you had gotten to have a conversation with Happy about his boss’ motives. Tony was definitely not amused and spent most of the time in silence, but he didn’t tell either of you to stop your gossipy chatter.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to swing by your apartment and pick anything up?” he questions, raising an eyebrow as you both make your way towards the immaculate elevator that leads to the upper floors. You already had a temporary badge that gave you access to nearly everything in the compound; it doesn’t seem like Tony had expected you to tell him no, which you suppose is fine. You like to help them, after all, which you assume he must know by now.

 

“You already told me you were gonna buy everything I need, and I bet you’re not willing to renegotiate, are you? There’s no point and we both know it.”

 

Tony smirks as the elevator doors close behind you and he presses the button for the top floor. “Well, you’re part of the team now so it’s only right.” Your stomach does a weird flutter with his words, but you quickly try to stamp it out. There’s no use in getting too excited; you’re not going to be here for very long. You couldn’t be, at any rate, The Avengers are too out in the open. You’d be setting them—and yourself—up for easy retaliation from all the people that you’ve burned with your profession.

 

Besides, they didn’t know you, not really. They wouldn’t stick their neck out for you like that.

 

After taking you on a mini-tour of all the places that you hadn’t yet been, Tony drops you off in a suite that’s always prepared for guests. You hate the way you gawk at it, and you hate the smug look he sends you before seeing himself out through the door. The interior is pristine and everything looks terribly expensive. The sheets on the bed alone probably cost as much as the dress you’re wearing, if not more.

 

 _It’s bigger than my entire apartment_ , you think, removing your high heels and discarding them by the door. Tentatively, you rub your fingers over the silken sheets and velvety fabric of the couch. The living room is connected to a kitchenette and there’s an entirely separate door that leads into your bedroom, which the bathroom is connected to. Most of the colors in the apartment are cool and neutral, a few dusky blues and purples accentuating the decorating here and there.

 

“Good afternoon, Miss (L/N), I am F.R.I.D.A.Y. Mr. Stark has requested that I attend to your needs, so if there is anything that I can get you, please do not hesitate to ask,” a pleasant female voice says as it fills the room. You’d heard her on occasion, though never really got to interact with the program yourself.

 

“I’m actually curious on what kind of information I can access within the databases while I stay here. I assume Tony’s put some limitations in place,” you reply eagerly, flopping on the plush bed and diving through the drawers hoping to find one of those fancy tablets he’s always toting everywhere. Perhaps you don’t have to be helping him just out of the goodness of your heart after all; anything you can glean from their records would certainly be worth whatever Tony’s planning on putting you through.

 

“What you’re looking for is in the second-to-last drawer, Miss (L/N). Mr. Stark has only put information blocks in place for his prototypes, everything else you are able to access.”

 

“Thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y.! And, please, call me (Y/N).” You grin in appreciation, since it seems that he’s serious about trusting you. You’re going to take advantage of the knowledge that’s present, knowing that anything you can gather now will help with any future endeavors with him and the team.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that night, you’re sprawled out on one of the Avengers’ many couches in the common room as Tony goes over the reports Steve and Nat brought him a few hours ago. They sure had been surprised to see you—especially in a pair of sweats that may or may not have belonged to the redheaded agent herself—but you had just flashed them a smile and told them that you were on a special assignment for Tony.

 

“Glad you’re finally willing to see how capable (Y/N) is, Tony,” Steve had said with a broad, open smile. “Her skills have been invaluable to many of our missions.”

 

“Which is why she’s here,” Tony replied dismissively, refusing to answer any of their questions when they tried to prod him for more information, which you guess is not surprising considering the circumstances. Nat had glared daggers into your face the whole time, letting you know that it wasn’t over. It never was with her.

 

Now, legs sprawled out across Tony’s lap, you’ve been frantically texting Natasha, Pepper, and Clint—who had found out that you were staying with everyone from Nat. You hated leaving Nat and Clint in the dark as they had both become close friends of yours, but at least you could admit that you were doing undercover work. You didn’t leave any details out with Pepper, however; she’s the one with the potential to be greatly hurt by what the two of you were doing, and you didn’t want that. Tony doesn’t even have to know you told her, and maybe that’s for the best.

 

“Tell me why you insisted we try to get our work done like this,” Tony huffs, gripping one of your ankles and giving it a tug. You flash him an amused look even as you unwillingly read his body chemistry—a large part of which is caffeine. Scooting down closer to him, you squish your face against the side of his when he doesn’t immediately release you.

 

“If we’re going to be a convincing couple, you have to learn to tolerate me touching you, buddy. No one’s gonna believe you’re fucking me in whatever form I’m in if you can’t stand to be physically close to me,” you reply simply, squeezing the back of his neck before flopping down onto the couch and going back to answering the baffled texts of your friends and his ex-fiancée.

 

“And this is the way to do that?” He sounds a bit exasperated, so you nudge his chest with your knee.

 

“Would you rather we cuddle, big guy?” you coo, your voice full of mischief. That doesn’t help the annoyed look on his face, but at least he finally lets go of your ankle so you can stretch out your legs again—and so you’ll stop getting sensory overload.

 

Tony looks at you incredulously as you do so. “Are you really the woman in the dossier Fury gave me, or are you some kind of imposter? Is this the real you?” You can see the doubt on his face, already wondering if he’s made a mistake, especially if you’re going to be so...invasive.

 

“I wonder,” you laugh, shaking your head. “Guess you’ll find out tomorrow at that gala.” Despite your teasing words, you try to send him a soothing smile. He unwinds somewhat at the sight of it, but not completely. It’ll have to do.

 

* * *

 

 

Your hands are tucked into the crook of Tony’s elbow, making it look like you’re practically hanging off of him, cameras flashing all around you as you step out of the limousine. From your head to your toes, your entire complexion is much darker than normal, and the undertones match the brilliant, fiery red of your dress—just as your lips do, just as Tony’s tie does. Rubies and diamonds twinkle on your throat and at your ears, little presents from the man of the hour to accent your look.

 

Tony removes your gloved hands from his arm, instead choosing to encircle it around your waist as you pose for more pictures, occasionally moving farther down the line of celebrities. His actions seem mechanical and he has this faraway look in his eyes. Emotionally, he definitely wasn’t ready to come out with you just yet, but you knew that his ego would never let him live it down if he didn’t. You tuck your hand into his suit’s back pocket and lean up to his ear, eyes sparkling as if you’re about to say something saucy and inappropriate—but that it’s meant only for him.

 

“Tony, you have to move your hand farther down my hip and relax, dear. No one’s going to believe this if you don’t look like you’re comfortable touching me, remember? Stay with me. We’ll have fun the entire night, just the two of us. You don’t have to put on a show with me, okay? Just be yourself. You know who I am,” you whisper softly with encouragement, curling your lips up into a smile. You feel his fingers hesitate for just a moment before his entire hand falls down to your hip, giving it a squeeze as a smirk breaks out across his face.

 

“Oh, stop it. You’re going to get _both of us_ in trouble,” he responds loud enough for the paparazzi to hear, causing excited buzzing to break out around you as the cameras start flashing with abandon. You can’t help but roll your eyes playfully, his act firmly back in place despite what you had told him.

 

When you’re finally past the red carpet, you curl back into Tony’s side, resting your head on his shoulder as you analyze the room. The floor is made of smooth marble, and the walls are a peachy, carved stone. Grand chandeliers dangle high above you, and there are far too many to count. Most of the decorations are variations of white, gold, or the same color as the walls. The people that stroll about the large hall are dressed spectacularly, all rich, bright fabrics and perfectly painted faces.

 

Your date leads you effortlessly to your seats, pulling your chair out like a gentleman. You raise your eyebrow at him and give him an easy laugh, slipping into the seat and extending your knee to nudge his chair out, too. There’s just enough room for the two of you to sit side-by-side and keep council between yourselves.

 

“Charming,” he mutters as he rolls his eyes, the sly grin never leaving his features. He takes his place beside you, carefully pulling one of your hands into his. It was a gesture that he’d had to practice many, many times and it still doesn’t look entirely natural. “God, this feels weird without Pepper.” This part of his statement is meant for you only, and you flip your hand over to lace your fingers within his in an attempt to comfort him without looking too suspicious about it. He tenses but doesn’t draw away.

 

You remember to keep the pity out of your eyes when you look at him. “It’s hard to go back to the playboy lifestyle now that you’ve known real love, darling.” It’s a straightforward statement, nowhere near the question that you had intended it to be. He lets loose a long sigh, leaning forward on his elbows as he traces your knuckles with his fingertips anxiously. It feels nice through the satiny material of your gloves.

 

“Yeah,” Tony agrees gruffly, waving down a server holding a tray loaded with champagne flutes using his free hand. “Which is why I came to you. You’re a professional at this stuff.” The suited waiter places a pair of long-stemmed glasses on your table, the rosé within them a bubbling, flirty pink. He dismisses himself quickly to go back to the kitchen to restock.

 

“I’m a professional _something_ , all right. Though, I dunno if I’d consider myself a professional when it comes to love, but I do _so_ aim to please,” you tease, giving him a cheeky grin. He picks up one of the flutes and holds it out to you; you pluck the drink from his hand daintily, giving it a light sip as you cross your legs, careful not to smudge your lipstick.

 

“Someone could hear you,” he reprimands lightly and half-heartedly, but you just shrug a shoulder and readjust your dress, smoothing down the beaded fabric of your bodice. Tony’s silken tie really does complement the red of it so well; the two of you definitely look like a couple.

 

“Are you gonna dance with me, Mr. Stark?” you wonder aloud as the band on stage picks up, fluttering your lashes at him bashfully. They were apparently starting the entertainment a bit early, and then later on would be the speeches imploring all of these rich people to give to charity. You’re surprised by how convinced you are that it was going to be equally interesting _and_ boring to watch—interesting to see what Tony would do, boring to realize that there would be a lot of posturing before anyone here would actually commit to any donation amount.

 

“Do you even know how to dance?” he asks with a chuckle, mirth in his dark brown eyes. You give him a coy smile, biting your lip impishly—you find that you can’t help it, giddy to be here with him and from the drink in your hand.

 

“I do, but if you’d rather me pretend I don’t…” You wiggle your perfectly arched eyebrows, looking at him with amusement. “It would certainly be funny to see all the scandalized looks as I fumble over myself. Then the tabloids will be all, _oh Stark must be so ashamed! No wonder he dumped that uncultured clutz_! _She was probably in it for the money, anyway!_ ”

 

Tony strokes his facial hair in contemplation, staring at the gathering couples on the dance floor. “That is _technically_ true, you know. But yes, it would be very funny… You’re going to be a terrible influence on me.” He starts laughing when you balk and act offended at his little jab, bringing your champagne glass back up to your lips as you sniff haughtily. You can’t keep it up for long before your giggling along with him, eventually downing the rest of your drink.

 

“You hired me. You have no one else to blame but yourself.” He snorts and then pulls you out of your chair gracefully; the hand that presses against your back is a little more sure of itself as he leads you away. You try to ignore the tingling that his fingers leave in their wake as they graze over your spine.

 

As the first few songs commence, you’re not that surprised that he knows how to dance like this; you can only imagine how many of these events he’s gone to over his lifetime. Hell, you’ve been to quite a few of them yourself for work—which is what this is, you guess. It’s sort of strange how you’ve already allowed yourself to become so comfortable in this strange role you’ve adapted for him.

 

Your skill and experience doesn’t stop the blush you force to your cheeks, however, or the expertly crafted stumbling you do as he spins you around the dancefloor.

 

“Relax, sweetheart,” Tony purrs, dropping the hand he’s placed on your shoulder to your waist to keep a steady hold on you. He gives you a gentle, reassuring squeeze before his hands move lower, landing on your hips as he pulls you close. “Just follow my lead. I’ve got you.”

 

“Sorry, I’m new to this,” you respond shyly, carefully circling your arms around his neck—the skin-on-skin contact lets you read his body chemistry and he’s intensely amused by your act. There’s a murmur from the dancers closest to you as you pretend to nervously fidget your fingers through the base of his hair. He gives you a wolfish smirk and you put on the best show of being very, _very_ flustered at the undivided attention he gives you.

 

“Damn,” he mutters so quietly that you’ll be the only one to hear. You can feel his breath fanning against your cheek, tickling the shell of your ear. Goosebumps rise on the back of your neck, and you tell yourself it’s just because he’s near such a sensitive area of skin. “Even _I_ almost believe you.”

 

You pull away slightly, a smug little grin playing on your red lips. Giving Tony a subtle wink, you go to turn with him as if he’s given you a boost of confidence with his words—but instead trip over your own high heels, landing face-first down on the floor. There are scandalized gasps around you, accompanied by a few genuine laughs as people begin whispering amongst themselves.

 

You sit up, trying your best to look genuinely mortified by your tiny tumble. Your date bends to one knee, carefully gathering you in his arms as you bury your face in his chest, muttering your shameful apologies. He draws you to your feet and leads you back towards your shared table, soothingly running a hand down your back as you refuse to make eye contact with anyone around you.

 

When you’re both seated, he leans in close and gives you a once over. “Was that a part of the plan, or…?” You give him a Cheshire smile, lifting your shoulders as you imitate nursing your wounded pride. He chuckles lowly as he shakes his head; the sound of it makes your stomach tighten in dangerous, unwanted ways.

 

The night eventually draws to a close after that; the rest of it had gone almost exactly as you’d predicted. Tony had managed to keep you entertained for most of the evening, enjoying himself despite everything. Although, maybe he enjoyed himself a little _too_ much if the numerous drinks he had throughout were any indication. You’re not sure if the large amounts he had offered to the charities would hold up once he was sober, but that would be something to discuss behind closed doors later.

 

Now, you’re tucked beneath his arm, keeping close to try to help steady his walking. You ease him into the back limousine, calling out a greeting to Happy as he scrutinizes Tony’s appearance. The billionaire fumbles with the buttons on his suit jacket so you aid in removing it, carefully undoing his cufflinks to keep him from poking himself with them.

 

“Haven’t seen the boss this sloppy in a while,” Happy states wistfully as he begins the drive back to the Avengers complex. He doesn’t bother raising the partition.

 

You frown, knowing that he’s right. _Maybe I should have tried talking him into cancelling, after all…_ Happy assists you with getting Tony inside and to his room; the latter getting heavier with exhaustion as the two of you progress farther into the compound. Once you’ve got Tony on his bed, Happy leaves you to attend to his other duties, knowing that you can take care of his boss.

 

“I didn’t expect you to get so damn drunk tonight, Stark,” you tease playfully, setting his jacket across the back of one of his armchairs, double checking that the cufflinks are still inside the pocket. You then attempt to help in the removal of his shoes, placing them carefully near the chair as well once you’ve finally managed to smack his clumsy hands away.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, stretching out on the luxurious bed beneath him. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

 

You roll your eyes as you walk back over to him. “Wanna change or just go straight to sleep?”

 

“I didn’t hire you to wait on me,” Tony pouts as he narrows his eyes at you. You laugh softly, patting his shoulder and sending him an expectant look—you certainly weren’t going to leave him in this state if it’s not what he wanted. “Not sure I could even get my clothes off,” he finally admits with a huff. You nod in response as you reach for his blankets; you both struggle to get the fine sheets and comforter out from under him.

 

“Goodnight, Tony,” you say quietly, pulling the silk-like material up to his chin. His eyes flutter closed as he turns onto his side towards you. You begin to head towards the door but his muttering stops you.

 

“Princess, wait,” he calls out to you, the words slurry and hesitant. Your back stiffens at the nickname—it’s the first time he’s used one so endearingly while the two of you are alone. You try to ignore the beating of your heart as you slink back over to him, finding that his arm is slung over his eyes. “Stay with me until I fall asleep?”

 

You flounder uncertainly for a moment before sitting on the bed next to him. “If that’s what you’d like, sure.” He shifts closer to you on the bed, nearly curled around you but not _quite_ touching. You resist the urge to reach out and push the hair away from his forehead or stroke his cheek.

 

“Thanks,” he rumbles sleepily, his breathing evening out as he starts to drift off. You fidget on the bed next to him, suddenly very unsure if agreeing to his request— _any_ of his requests, really—was such a good idea, after all.

 

 _This is...dangerous,_ you think, dragging your eyes away from his sleeping face to stare at the doorway, so far from where you sit. You knew you’d have to practically be dead to not find him, and many of the other Avengers, attractive, but this? Whatever was happening to you? You’re not sure you could handle it with your usual grace and professionalism, and that worries you.

 

* * *

 

The next few weeks go by in much the same vein as the first few days. Tony’s basically given you free rein of the compound when he doesn’t require your talents, which has left you with a lot of time to try to get adjusted to living with the other Avengers. Almost immediately, you had volunteered for kitchen duty because it was something that you knew how to do with some proficiency and Clint didn’t mind having another set of hands. It’s pretty obvious just how much food the Avengers go through, and the revelation that he’d been doing it solo until Wanda came along had been absolutely baffling.

 

“Is this really how many eggs we’ll need?” Wanda wonders doubtfully, staring down at the two-dozen of them that Clint had gently plopped down in front of her. She crinkles her nose as she continues, “ _And_ this is on top of everything else?” She gestures to the bacon, sausage, biscuits, and fruit already spread out before the three of you.

 

“We’ll see,” Clint snorts, shaking his head, “you’ve witnessed Bucky and Steve packing calories away like they’re still starving from The Great Depression. Hell, I’ve seen you mutants eat half of this yourselves after burning through your powers on a particularly intense mission. And now that your brother’s out of his coma? Yeah, if this covers everyone, we’ll be lucky.”

 

You have yet to meet Pietro, but visiting him in the facility’s medical ward is certainly on your ever-growing list of errands. This week’s schedule is almost entirely booked with your promises of attending art galleries and museums with Vision and Wanda, high-intensity workouts with Steve, Bucky, Sam, and Nat, and being Bruce’s research assistant on his various projects. And if you end up having to cancel on any of them to go to a last-minute event with Tony, they’ve already told you that they’d understand in advance.

 

The fact that they’ve all been so welcoming since you arrived has made you feel quite conflicted; after all, you’re used to working and living alone. There have always been exceptions to this, of course, as evidenced by your willingness to fill in their rosters when they’re down a body, and you’ve gone on week-long missions with them before. But, well, this is something entirely different. It’s just so _domestic_.

 

You kind of like it—maybe more than you’re ready to admit.

 

“Clint’s right, Wanda,” you narrow your eyes at the paltry amount of food in front of you, scrutinizing it, “we may have to improvise to get everyone fed. Who did you say does the grocery shopping again?”

 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. has them delivered,” Clint says as he waves dismissively and begins working on breakfast.

 

“Guess I can have the list updated so that this doesn’t happen again,” you mutter, causing Wanda to send you a soft smile as the two of you join with meal prep.

 

Over the next hour or so, the kitchen ends up being a revolving door of superheroes. Most of them show up right as the coffeepot announces that it’s done brewing, but there are a few stragglers that miss out on eating with everyone. You plate some of what’s left for yourself as you go through a mental checklist of those that aren’t away on missions, trying to ensure that they’ve all been accounted for.

 

“ _Tony_ ,” you groan with exasperation when you come around to his name, setting your meal back down on the counter. “Did either of you see him come out of his workshop this morning?” You turn to Clint and Wanda as they place their dirty dishes in the sink next to you.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t,” Wanda admits, worry tinting her voice.

 

Clint shrugs his shoulders and points at the nearly empty coffee maker. “Nah, you know how he gets. But I bet he’d appreciate a cup of joe.” The two of them tell you their goodbyes and depart as you pile more onto the plate you had previously set aside for yourself and pour a cup of black coffee for Tony. You shove a piece of cold bacon in your mouth as you begin walking towards his workshop.

 

You’ve been inside his little playhouse a number of times now; he had been rather eager to see your reactions as he presented you with all of the gadgets and new prototypes he’s been spending his time developing. You’d cheekily revealed that you had been reading up on everything he’d given you access to in his research notes and _damn_ if his eyes didn’t practically sparkle with excitement.

 

He’s cute when he gets like that. You hated thinking about it.

 

“Stark!” you forcefully call out after F.R.I.D.A.Y. permits you entry to see him. Sparks fly on the opposite side of the room as he works on one of his suits, too lost in the moment to hear you. You close the distance between you, standing in plain view; you’d cock your hip and cross your arms if they weren’t full. “Tony!”

 

“(Y/N)?” he asks, confusion knitting his brows together. “How’d you get in here? Hey, is that coffee?” He stands from his crouching position and rips his gloves off, advancing on the gifts you’ve brought. There’s a smudge of grease along his clavicle and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare at it.

 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. said you’ve given me special permission to enter the workshop while you’re tinkering,” you swallow down the butterflies in your stomach as you set his breakfast on one of his desks, content on letting him have it all. You can always go back for something else. “Everything’s cold except the coffee.”

 

“Thanks, princess,” Tony replies easily, guzzling the caffeine as if it’s _not_ burning on the way down. You snitch another piece of bacon while he’s not looking, trying to distract yourself from the nickname he’s decided to pin you with. You had hoped it was going to be a one-time thing he’d said while he was drunk, but alas.

 

“No problem, bud,” you mutter with amusement, shaking your head at his antics. “Need anything else before I leave you to your manic madness?”

 

“Actually, yes, if you’re not busy?” You tell him that you have plans with Vision and Wanda in a couple of hours, but you’re free for now. “Great! I know you’ve been helping Bruce with his work, so I was hoping you could do the same for me. I know you don’t know much about robotics or engineering—”

 

“Tony, you’ve fused two actuators together on the left arm,” you observe with a raised eyebrow. You’ve pored over the old notes detailing his creations so many times that you’ve nearly gotten the lot of them memorized. F.R.I.D.A.Y. ended up having to walk you through some of his shorthand, but you’ve got the most basic understanding of what he does now. So he’s right, you don’t know much, but you do know a bit.

 

It’s a force of habit, always trying to be prepared for anything—even if it’s not a probable outcome. You’ve got so many backup plans for your backup plans, and you’re constantly learning new things just in case you ever need the knowledge. It’s not always practical, that’s for sure, but planning for any possible scenario is just what you do.

 

Besides, it’s just too much fun watching how excitable Tony gets after you show off your primitive understanding of his work.

 

“What? Where?” His eyes widen and he spins around, immediately spotting the problem. “Fuck, they’re facing one another, too. How did I…?” He trails off, looking pensive as he tries to figure out how the hell he’s going to get them apart without damaging either one.

 

“You know,” you drawl out, taking his empty dishes from him, “sleep would probably help with preventing these kind of mistakes. When was the last time you even sat down for a rest?”

 

Tony walks over to observe his work more closely. “No idea. I’ve got too many ideas bouncing around in my head. It won’t shut off,” he says, dismissing your suggestion lightly. He turns back to you and bites his lip. “Hand me that, will you?” You don’t miss the nervousness in his voice, or the way he fidgets at his own request. You try not to look startled; you’ve witnessed him deny so many people that’ve tried to give him something that you’re not entirely sure why he’d ask you instead of getting it himself. Maybe because it’s under his own terms?

 

“This?” You pick up some kind of tool that he must have previously discarded during this craze. He nods, so you gingerly hold it out to him—and his trembling fingers briefly brush against your own as he takes it from you with a hesitant smile. The brief skin contact lets you read that his body is filled with epinephrine and cortisol—adrenaline and what you assume is stress or anxiety.

 

You aren’t able to keep your traitorous face from turning pink, your thoughts focusing on the touch of his hand. “So, what’s the plan, then? And what can I do to assist you?”

 

Tony rattles off a long list of things that he’s going to run through, already assuming that each of the previous ones won’t work. You end up spending the next couple of hours trying to keep up while playing aide whenever he needs a second set of hands for something. Eventually, you’re far too hungry to focus, regretting your decision not to tell him that you’d be back after getting sufficiently stuffed.

 

“I’m starving,” you sigh, mind and body running on empty. You lean back on a metal table that has only a few of Tony’s diagrams, drawings of prototypes, and his tablet on it. Your arms are covered in grease past the pair of gloves he gave you, so you’re careful not to let either touch anything that looks important. “We were supposed to share the breakfast I brought you, you know.”

 

“Ah,” he mutters, flushing with out-of-place embarrassment. “I was a bit excited. Let me make it up to you?” Purposefully but without thinking, he walks up and reaches around you for his tablet. You feel him so close to your body that you could almost touch him, and you find yourself bracing back against the table to keep from doing just that—even though you desperately want to. The sharp edge bites into the back of your thighs as you curse yourself for wearing such a short skirt, and for not somehow knowing you’d be put in this position. At least he’s wearing full-length pants.

 

“That’s not necessary, you already do quite a lot for me. I should really be going anyway. Vis and Wanda will be expecting me soon enough,” you explain, trying to get yourself out of this situation as soon as possible. You didn’t want to mix business with pleasure; you’re a professional, after all, and Tony Stark was most definitely off limits in absolutely every way: mentally, emotionally, _and_ physically. Probably spiritually, too. He and Pepper just broke up a few weeks ago, for fuck’s sake.

 

His eyebrows knit together in confusion and he looks back at you, pawing at the tablet until it slides into his palm. “Do you need to meet them now?”

 

You try to hide the way your breath is catching in your throat when he levels that critical gaze on you. “No, but—”

 

“Then what are you talking about, princess?” He leans back just enough to start scrolling through the numerous apps on the device, finally settling on one and beginning to put lunch together for you both.

 

“Tony,” you whisper, your voice raw as your heart beats rapidly in your chest. _That stupid nickname of his_ , you think frustratedly. His dark brown eyes return to yours, a frown forming on his face as he invades your personal space again. You reach up and place your hands on his chest, forcing him back a couple of measly inches.

 

“(Y/N)?” he says your name back breathlessly. Or is it just your imagination? It’s very hard to tell with your head swimming the way it is, drunk off of his proximity to you. His hands come up to wrap around your bare wrists, the tablet once again forgotten behind you as he attempts to remove the barrier you’ve put between the two of you. Instantly, your power interprets the apprehension and worry pushing to the forefront of his anatomy.

 

“Don’t,” you plea, more to yourself than to him. He’s managed to wrench your hands from his chest and pin them to the table behind you, his body bending over yours. In equal measures, you hate how frantically you feel the need to get away from him while simultaneously wanting to press your entire frame against his, to taste every change in his chemistry when you do so.

 

But you know that no matter what happens after such a moment, no matter how it plays out, it can only end badly—you’ll both end up hurt and you’ll have broken the fragile trust he’s put in you.

 

“What’s gotten into you?” The sentence sounds less like a question and more like an accusation when he narrows his eyes at you. You can feel his harsh breathing on your lips and feel the quivering of his fingers. You have his full, undivided attention whether you want it or not.

 

You have to get out of here. Get out of this damn complex and pretend like none of this ever happened. You could probably salvage the Avengers as a resource if you went back to not interacting with Tony except only on occasion. But, of course, the problem first and foremost is getting out from under said man and escaping his workshop.

 

“I—I can’t stay here in the facility anymore,” you murmur finally, waiting for the look of betrayal to wash across his face. It doesn’t come; instead, you find yourself horrified as something much worse overcomes his entire figure: _desperation_. It’s screaming out from where the two of you are connected, and nipping on its heels are panic and fear.

 

“Princess.” His voice sounds so small, so hurt, as he stares down at you listlessly. His fingers curl under your own, interlocking you to him. “ _Why?_ ”

 

You open your mouth to insist on an excuse that you both know is bullshit. As you do so, Tony’s eyes flick down to your lips, causing you to promptly shut them as you turn a darker shade of red. Tentatively, with more hesitation than you would have ever expected from him, he leans forward and ghosts his mouth over yours. The gasp you let out causes him to jerk backwards and stare at you with his eyes blown wide.

 

The only sounds that echo in the room are the sounds of your joint panting—and maybe the thudding of your heart. You squirm under his attention, wishing more than anything that your silver tongue would work and find you a way out of this. You’re almost glad that he’s got your hands pinned down or else you’re sure you’d be touching his face or have them wrapped around his neck as he kisses you again.

 

The thought of his lips on yours involuntarily causes you to squeeze your thighs together; the entire situation has arousal shooting through your veins. The way he’s looking at you is so intense, like you’ll disappear if he averts his gaze and he would do _anything_ to keep that from happening. You can’t help that you’re shaking from the way that he’s towering over you, imagination running wild with all the other ways he could be atop you in this moment.

 

 _Arousal_. You feel it override everything else in his bloodstream when Tony obviously takes notice of your movement; he’s nearly wedged himself between your legs and you weren’t exactly being subtle. He inhales sharply, his gaze trailing down your body briefly before snapping back up to look you directly in the eyes. This time, he advances on you a little more aggressively, his mouth slanting against yours with that same desperation you had just seen on his face. You let a soft moan rumble out of the back of your throat the moment that he touches you, causing his hands to grip yours even tighter.

 

Feeling the way he’s kissing you so intently makes you feel punchdrunk and confused; you lick his bottom lip languidly and when he gasps, you latch onto it and roll your tongue over it more insistently before delving into his mouth. He groans as he releases your hands, one of his arms wrapping around you to crush your form against him while the other cups your cheek. The one hand you have free cards through the hair at the base of his neck, tugging on it gently as your tongue slips over his.

 

His hands trail over your shoulders and down the rest of your body teasingly, avoiding all the places you want him to touch you, settling on your hips. He gives you a squeeze as he pushes you back against the metallic table, securing you in place. You fist the front of his shirt for a moment to draw him closer before your hands fall and slip beneath the fabric, eagerly drinking up any skin-on-skin contact that you can get. You can feel how much he wants you, _needs_ you, and it’s driving you crazy.

 

He puffs out a heaving breath as he pulls away from you, your fingers tracing over his abs. Your lips ghost over his Adam’s apple as your fingers dip teasingly into the waistband of his pants before moving back up his chest. He tilts his head back and lets out a lewd moan as you find a sensitive patch of skin near his pulse point. His eyes squeeze shut as his hips begin to rock deliciously against yours; you can’t help the whimper that escapes your throat because it’s so good—and yet not enough.

 

The tablet goes off behind you, the notification just loud and jarring enough to bring you back to your senses. The two of you stand there in a shocked daze, trying to numbly recollect yourselves. You can’t quite manage to look Tony in the eye as you feel your face bloom a bright, shameful pink. You somehow managed to do everything—well, okay, certainly not _everything_ —that you’d been telling yourself not to since that night that he had asked you to stay with him until he fell asleep. You pull your hands off of him like the touch of his skin is burning you as the urge to flee returns quite violently, but you’re able to squash it down as Tony grabs angrily at the device that had interrupted your little makeout session.

 

“Fuck,” he growls, his thankfully still-clothed body not willing to part with yours just yet. “ _Fuck_!” You can see the conflict flickering across his face when you finally convince yourself to catch his eye.

 

“What’s wrong?” You succeed in finding your voice, though you sound absolutely _wrecked_. You bite your lip, hoping against all hope that he doesn’t notice. But, honestly, who are you kidding? There’s no way he didn’t.

 

“That’s my emergency notification—” you make a mental note of this for future reference “—Peter’s got himself into trouble, but Happy’s tied up and can’t get to him.” He messily runs his fingers through his dark hair, working through the problem in his head. Reaching up, he tentatively strokes the palm of his hand across your jaw. “Come with me? I’m not sure I could talk to the kid without saying something I’d regret.”

 

“Whatever you need, boss,” you reply smoothly, sliding your way past him and trying your best not to look like you’re running for the exit. His blood is _swimming_ in leftover arousal and oxytocin—the hormone in charge of feelings of love or fondness. The same one that’s running through your system right now.

 

He certainly feels something for you, and after that little stunt you know you won’t be able to pretend that you aren’t stupidly infatuated with him. But will he be willing to give you what you want? The two of you are so mentally and emotionally fucked; it’d likely be a disaster in the making. Would you even be good for each other?

 

You can’t think about this now, not with the kid in a mess big enough that it requires Iron Man to be called in.

 

After hastily slapping on what gear you need, you exit the compound and check your phone. You expected Tony to have had F.R.I.D.A.Y. forward you the location, but instead find him waiting for you next to one of his cars outside. You raise an eyebrow at him but he just twirls his fingers impatiently and gets in. You slide into the passenger seat after him and watch as he clutches the steering wheel tightly in his grip.

 

“He’s been more rowdy lately,” Tony grumbles as he takes a sharp turn onto a different street. You know as much yourself; you’ve never had a conversation with him about Peter, but you’ve read up on the kid and what he’s done. So much of it is good, he’s just in over his head and Tony doesn’t seem to be providing the kind of direction he needs.

 

“That’s because he wants your attention, Tony,” you say soothingly. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from adding _like me_ to the end of the sentence. After a moment of hesitation, you reach out and place a comforting hand on his knee. He risks a look at you to show how appreciative he is of the gesture before letting out a loud, obnoxious sigh.

 

“Are you sure about that? You know me...” He doesn’t ever finish the statement and you don’t press him to, instead choosing to frown quietly as you look out of the window for any signs of the kid.

 

 _I do know you, Tony. You love attention. This kid wants yours, which is just a roundabout way of you getting it. What’s the problem here? The fact that he’s a kid who looks up to you?_ you think to yourself, rolling your lips together and biting the inside of your cheek to keep from speaking aloud. It was definitely not the time to have this discussion.

 

The car eventually pulls up to a street that’s seen some kind of hell in Queens. A spiderweb full of cars is being suspended between two buildings while Peter fights someone in the topmost vehicle—an armored car, the kind usually used for transporting things of high importance like money or jewels. A gunshot rings out from somewhere below, and there’s a moment where both you and Tony are stunned as red blooms angrily on Peter’s shoulder.

 

Tony turns to you, already engaging one of his compact suits. “Can you handle the guy on the ground?” He actually waits for you to respond, though you know it’s killing him to do so.

 

“Absolutely,” you reply quickly, already breaking out in a dead sprint towards the man with the gun. The fact is you actually _didn’t_ know that with any certainty, but the alternative is Peter being shot again. You hear Tony taking off into the sky behind you as you duck behind a car in an attempt to avoid being seen when the goon inevitably looks behind him to see Iron Man.

 

Another gunshot echoes out and with it comes the telltale sound of it reflecting off of Tony’s armor. You peek out from the tailend of the vehicle that you’re hidden behind to find that the guy’s still distracted, so you take the opportunity to close the rest of the distance. He never hears you behind him, never notices you until you’ve cracked your elbow against the back of his head and disarmed him.

 

“How many others?” you hiss as you twist his arms behind his back. He contorts around in an attempt to look at you, and when he finally does you see his face drain of color. He recognizes you; it appears your reputation precedes you.

 

“Three!” he gasps out. Reaching forward as you step on his hands to keep him pinned down, you rip the balaclava from his head and scrutinize his face. You don’t know who he is, and there are no recognizable marks from what little skin you can see.

 

“If you’re lying, I’ll know.” You narrow your eyes at him as your foot presses harder into his back. “Keep still and remember that I know your face now.”

 

You do a quick scan of the surrounding area and spot another dude on the ground a few feet away in the same getup as the one you’ve got immobilized. He seems to be unconscious, his hands wrapped in webbing. Tony and Peter are fighting the other two up in the armored vehicle—they had apparently gotten trapped inside when all of this started. Tony manages to yank one of them out and Peter webs her hands before she can bring her gun up again.

 

The last one pops out of the back doors and draws an automatic weapon on Peter while he’s distracted. Your heart’s racing as your hands move, bringing the silenced handgun that you had snagged from the guy you took down up to squeeze off a rapidly calculated shot. The goon holding the SMG howls out in pain as the weapon explodes in his grip and blood oozes from his broken fingers. Your aim is perfect, as always.

 

The cleanup is rather quick after that. Peter webs the four robbers up in the middle of the street and turns their guns over to the police when they finally arrive on the scene. The giant netting of cars turns out to be trickier, but with some help from you and Tony he manages to get them back onto the ground. The police ask for statements from all of you much to your chagrin, and then they whisk the criminals away without so much as a warning to any of you.

 

“Is this what it means to be an Avenger? No one questions your actions?” you sigh as you watch them go. Tony’s faceplate opens up as he looks at you disbelievingly, beginning the process of removing his suit.

 

“Of course not. I’m going to receive at least ten angry calls from the mayor over the course of the next week with demands that I pay for all of this damage. I’m sure the U.N. will have some choice words for me, also,” he mutters heatedly. Peter’s nervously bouncing between his feet next to you, but stands stockstill when Tony levels his piercing gaze on him.

 

“What were you thinking?” he demands as he shakes his head. “Come on, kid, you told me you’d do better than this!”

 

Peter holds his hands up defensively. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, I just thought I could help—”

 

“You call that helping?” Tony snaps, pressing the final release on his suit and stepping out of it. It crumples until it’s small enough to fit in the palm of his hand; he pockets it quickly, never breaking eye contact with Peter.

 

“They had explosives! I had to do something!” Peter stutters, looking equally defiant and mortified. Tony opens his mouth to retort but bites down on his lip instead, his eyes flickering over to you.

 

You take this as your cue to step in. “It wasn’t clean, but the kid stepped in and did something. There’s nothing we can do about it now except try to show him a better way for next time.” You turn towards Peter and give him a heartening smile. “I’m (Y/N) (L/N) and I work with Tony.”

 

“I guess that means you already know who I am.” He deflates at the realization and turns away from you to sulk.

 

“Go home, Pete,” Tony finally says, apparently having calmed down somewhat. “Next time, call me or Happy _before_ you’re going to do something like this.”

 

Peter spins on his heel and even through his mask you know he’s indignant by his body language. “I try to, Mr. Stark! Neither of you ever pick up! I can’t just wait around for you while bad things happen!”

 

“How about I give him my number and he calls me from now on?” You look at Tony pleadingly, interjecting before they can start fighting again. Tony looks at you like he’s trying to figure out what kind of motive you have behind such a suggestion. You raise one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I’ve got the free time.”

 

“Do you? Enough free time for babysitting duty?” He rubs at his facial hair before huffing and stalking off towards his car. “Fine, do what you want.” He doesn’t wait for you this time, already furiously speeding back towards the complex.

 

“Did Mr. Stark just leave you here?” Peter sounds genuinely confused, obviously trying to let the babysitting comment go.

 

“Looks like it,” you laugh, wrapping one hand around your midsection as you smile at Peter. “Come on, Spider-Man, I know a place you can change and then we’ll get you home.”

 

Half an hour later, you’re walking down the sidewalk with Peter towards his apartment. He’s got his hands stuffed in his jean pockets, the hood of his jacket up, and his head bowed shyly, staring at his feet. As you close in on the address he gave you, he clears his throat.

 

“You said you work with Mr. Stark? Were—were you serious about the whole letting me call you thing?” he asks bashfully, doing his best to maintain eye contact with you. You smile effortlessly at him, his ears going a little pink.

 

“Night or day, _Mr. Parker_ ,” you tease playfully. “Tony’s very fond of you, which makes him act all weird and cranky. He doesn’t know what to do about it, especially because he doesn’t wanna see you get hurt. I’m pretty good at what I do, and if that idiot doesn’t want to teach you then I will.”

 

“Oh.” His face somehow turns five different shades of red in a matter of seconds as he goes over your words. “And I guess Happy just doesn’t want to get stuck on _babysitting duty_?” He makes a face after mimicking Tony’s earlier words, causing you to laugh.

 

“I’m afraid so, kiddo. But I promise you, I don’t mind.” The two of you stop outside of his building as he fumbles with the front door.

 

“If you’re sure…” he mumbles with a frown, doubting your sincerity and whether or not you’ll leave him high and dry like everyone else has.

 

“Give me a chance.” You slip him a piece of paper with your number on it and move back towards the sidewalk. “Goodnight, Pete.”

 

“Night, (Y/N),” he calls back, waving only when you do. You turn and begin the journey back towards the compound, deciding to call Nat to come pick you up when the sun starts setting and you’re not even halfway there. At least you manage to make it back in time to still go out with Wanda and Vision after all of this.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time 3am rolls around, you’ve decided that you’re not going to get any sleep and pull yourself out of bed to find something to do. The anxiety is way too much; you feel restless and your mind won’t stop racing as it goes over the events of the day. You had tried to talk to Tony the moment had you gotten back, but he had made himself scarce. You shot him a text asking if he was okay, but he had yet to read it; you couldn’t stop thinking about him the entire time you were out with Wanda and Vis either.

 

And it certainly doesn’t help that you’ve been entirely too hung up on that kiss. How it was so...overwhelming in the moment. You’ve been trying your best not to linger on it, knowing that you’ll just drive yourself crazy, but here you are doing just that. The memory of him between your legs as he kisses you so desperately makes your head spin, your heart race, and your knees weak.

 

 _Fresh air_ , you think to yourself through the haze. _It’ll do me some good_. You find one of the elevators on your floor and swipe your ID across the access panel before punching the button to the roof. It announces your arrival, and when you step out, the chilly night air instantly sweeps across your hot skin and provides some much needed relief.

 

You flip the switch next to you and watch as the lights begin to flicker on across the little area that you had helped Bruce and Natasha set up. It really isn’t a whole lot; a few planter boxes filled with flowers, a water-resistant dining set with an umbrella over the top to protect it from the weather, and a little mobile fire pit. There’s also extra seating in the storage room that’s attached to the elevator’s roof access.

 

You, Nat, and Wanda come up here every Sunday to drink wine—or vodka, depending on how the day’s gone—and unwind while doing a bit of good-natured gossiping. Clint sometimes joins in, too. You’ve even shared a few beers with Steve, Sam, and Bucky up here on special occasions. There have been talks of a barbecue for a while now as this is the perfect place for it, but with how hectic and unpredictable everyone’s schedules are it’s been tough trying to get a date set up.

 

Relaxing against the edge of the rooftop, you tuck your elbows under your chest and stare at the lights of the city. They’re a little dimmer out here due to where the building is located, but they’re hard to miss when it’s this dark out. Still, it’s a beautiful and serene sight. You sigh, lacing your fingers together and furrowing your brow, trying to work through your messy thoughts as you admire the view.

 

You had been pretty convinced that your feelings towards Tony were unreciprocated, but now the situation’s rather unclear. Before Pepper, he’d been a playboy that never stayed with someone for more than a few weeks and it’s hard to forget that. Now, you’re even more uncertain whether you should stay or go, especially after the way he reacted at just the mention of your desire to leave; at the very least, you don’t think you can continue your work relationship with him after this.

 

In the end, you know that you need to have a conversation with him before anything else can be decided. Surely he won’t keep avoiding you like he did tonight—you expect that knee jerk reaction was more about his anxiety over Peter’s welfare than what had happened between the two of you. At least, that’s what you hope. You’re not above breaking into his room if he keeps trying to evade you.

 

Your phone sounds off in the pocket of your shorts, vibrating against your hip. You have a couple of the devices laying around your room for various contacts and clients, but the important ones get the number to this one. It’s expressly used for emergencies—you never take it off your person, never put it on silent.

 

Turns out it’s a text from Peter. “Couldn’t sleep. About to head out. Meet me at my apartment?” You smile fondly down at the text; from the moment you’d read the first file on him, you’d really taken a liking to this kid. He’s diligent, responsible. Maybe you can keep him from getting hurt.

 

“Be there in 15 mins,” you answer quickly, tucking the phone back into your pocket and heading towards the elevator to get changed. Your fingers hover over the button to Tony’s floor before you just press your own. If he’s going to show up, he will—that is, if Peter even bothered to reach out in the first place.

 

You arrive right on time, waving up at Peter when he peeks his head out of his bedroom window. The smile that brightens his face is nothing short of ecstatic; he slips his mask on and glides down next to you with ease. You motion for him to lead the way and he gladly does, making sure that you never get too far behind him. He doesn’t really need to worry, though—you’re quick. The whole assassin thing has kinda made you used to chasing people down.

 

Eventually, you stop to take a break. “It’s so quiet tonight,” Pete states happily, his hands folded behind his head. The two of you had patrolled around most of Queens and the Bronx in the span of about an hour and a half, but didn’t trip across anything overly suspicious; at least, nothing that a little show of muscle didn’t immediately fix. It seems like the NYPD had already taken care of most of the disputes before you could arrive.

 

“Too bad,” you sigh, slumping against the side of the building that Peter had insisted on hoisting you to the top of. For a kid still in highschool, he has some amazing upper body strength—not that you didn’t already know that, but to see and experience it in person? What the hell is he made of? “I wanted to walk you through strategies for approaching various situations. Best way to do that would’ve been trial and error with the real thing.”

 

“We can still do that! We’ll just go through with the application later!” He beams eagerly from under his mask; you can tell by the way it scrunches up around his cheeks. You raise your eyebrow and scrutinize him closely.

 

“You aren’t tired yet, kid? I bet May will freak out if you’re not in your room by sunrise,” you say with a little quirk of your lips. He’s certainly enthusiastic—and maybe a bit excitable. It’s sort of refreshing against the brooding, eccentric types you’re normally stuck with.

 

“She won’t be up for at least another hour,” the eyes of Peter’s mask grow larger, mimicking the pleading, puppy eyes you know hide behind them, “please, (Y/N)?”

 

 _Okay, so he’s super adorable, knows how to use that to his advantage, and that’s real fucking dangerous_ , you think as you place a hand over your heart and swear quietly to yourself.

 

“Fine, but we’re going over basic hand-to-hand techniques, too. From the footage I’ve seen, it certainly looks like you could use it. Bull in a china shop and all that.” Showing him an easy defensive stance, you stand opposite to him and draw the gun that’s holstered beneath your jacket. You unload the clip and double check that the safety’s on—can never be too sure when doing drills.

 

“Ow,” he murmurs, pouting but not breaking form. You turn your back to him and wave the gun in the air, insisting that he actually go through with any actions that he’d normally take if you were a bad guy. You walk him through his failures and show him how he can improve; it leaves you bruised all to hell from being knocked around, but he finally manages to get the gun away from you and web you to the floor.

 

The sun’s about halfway over the horizon when you’re finally finished. “Nice job, kid. Let’s go pick up breakfast. We’ll get some for May, too. My treat.” Peter yanks his mask off, his eyes bright and excited as he practically glows under your praise. Or maybe it’s the prospect of free food?

 

You had planned to merely drop off your young protégé with a bag of baked goods and a pair of coffees, but instead he insists that you come in and meet his aunt. You do so with some reluctance, knowing that he’ll be extremely put out if you don’t. May’s a nice enough lady—has a few reservations about the whole superhero business, not that you can really blame her. She’s thankful for the breakfast and for your willingness to look after her nephew.

 

“Pete, we both need sleep,” you state plainly after finishing your breakfast; the damned kid had convinced you to stay and eat with them. May had already left to go to work over half an hour ago, but not before lecturing Peter for staying out all night.

 

“Okay,” he hesitates, trying not to look too hopeful, “you’ll come again, right? If I text you?”

 

“I told you before: night or day. Looks like you’re stuck with me now. Might wanna do some googling of my name before you message me again, though. So you know what kind of trouble you’re getting into.” He grins brightly, his eyes curious as he nods enthusiastically.

 

“Are those for Mr. Stark?” He points at the remaining paper bag by the door that’s been left untouched.

 

You try to keep from blushing. “Yep, I’ve sort of gotten in the habit of bringing him food in the morning; his normal breakfast consists of a pot of black coffee. Speaking of which, I was gonna pick him up a fresh cup on the way back.” You make your way to the front door, suddenly remembering that you’re on kitchen duty with Wanda—Clint’s out on a mission, so the two of you are gonna have to fend for yourselves against a ravenous pack of Avengers. You shoot one last look over your shoulder at Peter. “Call me if anything happens, Parker.”

 

“You got it, (Y/N)!” And then you’re gone.

 

* * *

 

 

The moment you pull into the gates and park your car, you know that _something_ ’s going on. Steve, Bruce, and Thor are all standing in the parking lot, watching a couple of Tony’s suits fly around the perimeter of the compound. Steve’s rubbing his fingers over his temples while Bruce pats him stiffly on the shoulder. You only catch the end of the conversation as you hurry over to them.

 

“Stark, I’m sure she’s just gone out for a bit,” Thor bellows to one of the flying machines as it circles in front of them. There’s no response on Tony’s end, but you feel your stomach do a fluttering flip before it plummets painfully downward.

 

“Oh, thank God,” Steve mutters when he sees you approaching.

 

“What the hell’s going on?” you ask around the lump in your throat as the Captain straightens out.

 

He lets out a pained sigh as he runs a hand through his hair. “Tony’s been claiming that you left with no intention of returning since he got up this morning. He’s sent a couple of his suits out to look for you.”

 

You pull your phone out of your pocket; there are no new messages. “He didn’t even try to contact my emergency number.” You narrow your eyes at the complex, a flicker of irritation forming in your gut.

 

“I’m pretty sure this is a panic attack,” Bruce explains with a bit of nervousness. “I know them pretty well. He may not have even thought of trying to contact you first. He’s just doing what he thinks will help in the moment.”

 

Biting your lip, you turn and stare at Thor pleadingly—his voice will carry much better than yours. “Look, she’s here, Stark!” One of the automatons finally stop at this declaration, hovering above you as you look up at it with wide eyes. It flies down until it’s only a foot away from you, halting before it gets too close.

 

“You scared me,” Tony’s voice says through the modulator of the suit. He sounds out of breath and incredibly tired. You send a quick look to the other Avengers, trying to give them your best encouraging smile. They seem to understand that you have everything under control and begin to dissipate.

 

“Let’s talk about this inside, hm? I brought you food,” you speak calmly when you turn back towards the machine, holding up the paper bag and styrofoam cup. He doesn’t answer right away, and you imagine that he’s trying to compose himself on the other side.

 

“Meet me in my room?” he requests, a small tremble in his voice. You give him a strong nod, not bothering to watch him recall all of his suits. You march straight through the front doors and onward until you’re climbing up the building in the elevator. When the door opens and you go to step out into the brightly lit hallway, Tony’s there waiting for you. You barely manage to pull the coffee out of the way before he crushes you to his chest, most likely ruining the pastries you brought him.

 

“ _Tony_ ,” you murmur wistfully, doing your best to wrench your arms out from under his and return his hug, careful not to spill anything on him. He’s shaking, you can feel it as the minutes pass by, his fingers digging helplessly into your back as if trying to reassure himself that you’re really there. “I would never leave without saying goodbye.”

 

“I went to talk to you this morning,” he whispers against your shoulder, burying his face in your neck. “You were gone. I remembered what you said yesterday before we—and I—”

 

You shush him, attempting to run your wrists over his spine gently. “Peter asked me to go out with him for awhile, that’s all. I promised you both I would if he asked me to.” His trembling has started to subside as you explain. “Why didn’t you call or text me? I left you one last night.”

 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d answer since you were already gone.” His tone is nothing short of brutally truthful and you can’t help the pain that shoots through your heart when you hear his words. You nudge him with your shoulder, hoping he’d get the hint to back up a bit. He pulls back to look you in the eyes—and, shyly, you lean up to press the softest kiss to his lips.

 

“I’d answer,” you murmur sharply, breath ghosting over his cheek as you stare at him resolutely.

 

“Oh.” He swallows around something heavy in his throat, and you can’t take your eyes off of the way it bobs as he does so. “Come—Come in.” He turns on his heel and quickly makes his way towards his room; you follow behind, readjusting your grip on the gifts you’ve brought him.

 

You place the foodstuffs on the sleek, metallic coffee table before urging Tony to sit, your hands pressing down on his shoulders when he resists. Eventually, he gives in and begins unpacking what you’ve brought, but only when you curl up on the couch next to him. After some internal warring, you reach out and sooth your hand over his back; you’ve had some trouble with anxiety yourself and this always seems to comfort you.

 

Despite this, his shoulders remain tense as he guzzles the entire cup of coffee down in one go, causing you to shake your head with a small smile on your face. Your fingers trail up his spine and delicately trace over the skin at the top of his shirt; his body’s dumping all sorts of unhealthy junk into his bloodstream while it works overtime—and you were right when you spoke to Peter about him not eating. However, the moment that your skin comes into contact with his, Tony finally seems to start unwinding. He presses back against your touch and closes his eyes, taking in deep, cleansing breaths and then slowly releasing them.

 

You get a boost of confidence with this, so you draw your legs up onto the couch and turn to face him, scooting a bit closer as you do. As soon as you’re within reaching distance, his eyes open back up and he leans over you until his head is resting on your shoulder. The hand you had caressing the back of his neck threads up into his hair, making him hum pleasantly.

 

“You didn’t eat,” you scold softly, your other hand almost futilely reaching for the bag still on the table in front of you. His arms hook under your legs and drag them out from where you have them folded between the two of you so that they’re sprawled over his lap.

 

“Did you see how miserably malformed they are? I’m not eating _those_ , they’re basically paste,” he mutters against your throat, warm breath and lips tickling against your sensitive skin.

 

“That’s because you crushed them when you mauled me in the hall,” you say with a small laugh, finally managing to hook one finger on the bag and drag it over to you. You peer into it and it’s even worse than you realized; it honestly looks like the cream-filled donuts had managed to spontaneously explode within. “I’ll put these in my fridge and get you new ones.”

 

“First of all, you are _not_ leaving me already. Second of all, what? Why? And third of all, can’t I just take you somewhere? Finally? _Please_?” Tony huffs, wrapping his arms around your middle, one hand trailing down your side, past your hip, and settling right next to your ass. You wiggle restlessly, trying to ignore the way being so close to him makes your stomach flutter, your heart race, and heat pool in your nethers.

 

“I’m not wasting food, Tony, no matter how ugly it is. And also, counteroffer: how about we go out tonight and I just order you something this morning?” You’re already dumping the paper bag back onto the table and digging your phone out of your pocket before you even finish your sentence. “We can stay like this until it arrives if it’ll make you happy.”

 

He perks up at this as you begin scrolling through your options. The hand that’s not currently hooked under that tantalizing place beneath your hip smoothes down your leg and stops just below your skirt, playing with the hem. You flash him a flustered, curious look that he barely sees, but the way you squirm at the featherlight touch of his fingers makes him smirk—you can feel the upturn of his lips against your throat.

 

The reactions he’s eliciting from you are apparently enough of an ego boost to get him to continue, and you gasp when he actually kisses your neck, the scruff of his beard rough against the smoothness of your skin. The tips of his fingers disappear only an inch into your skirt, trailing over the inside of your thigh. His other hand finally falls and grasps your ass, giving it a firm squeeze as he slides you into his lap. You just manage to hit the confirm order button before dropping your phone on the floor and wrapping your arms around his neck.

 

“Tony,” you moan quietly into his ear, gently tugging on his hair to pull his head back. Your mouth descends on his, wasting no time before your tongue parts the seam of his mouth and slips inside. He tastes bitter like the coffee he just drank, but it’s so good. _He’s_ so good. He kisses you back eagerly, drinking in every moan, every sound you give him as he grips you tightly against himself.

 

One of his hands trails up your body, moving from thigh to hip to waist to shoulder, expertly avoiding all of the places that you desperately crave his touch. It begins moving back downwards, skating around your breasts and tracing patterns over your stomach before falling back to your thigh, digging his fingers into the flesh of your leg. The other keeps resolute hold of your ass to help keep you in place over him. This seems to be one of his favored tactics—teasing you until you’re absolutely mad with want.

 

It’s a lot—all of it is, because not only are you feeling your own arousal and stimulation, but you’re also feeling the feedback you’re getting from touching him. His brain is flooded with dopamine and oxytocin, all things pointing towards just how much he wants you. It’s heady and makes you feel extremely powerful and overwhelmed all at once. And _god_ , what all of it’s doing to your sex, making you clench impatiently around nothing.

 

“I need you,” Tony murmurs unevenly when you both finally break away, breathing heavily against your skin. “I need you _always_. Do you understand, (Y/N)? Don’t leave me.” He presses his lips against yours sweetly, almost chastely and only for a second, as he looks pleadingly into your eyes.

 

You frame his face between your hands, a thumb stroking his stubbly cheek. “I only wanted to leave because my infatuation with you was making our agreement unprofessional, darling.” Touching your forehead to his, your thumb dips to rub over his bottom lip. “After everything that we had shared and the friendship we had built, it had felt wrong, like I was betraying your trust in me.”

 

He scoffs, moving his face down to press a kiss to the palm of your hand. “As if you had anything to worry about in the first place, princess. I was the crazy, heartbroken billionaire taking advantage of the sweet, if somewhat terrifying, mutant with a tragic backstory for his own personal gain. Seriously, you need to learn to give me less credit. I always just throw money at problems until they go away—even women, apparently.” Dark humor swims in his brown eyes even as he says these things and you can’t help but laugh as you lean in to capture his mouth with yours.

 

You twist your body until it’s flush against his, finally fully straddling him against the sofa. Tony’s hands slip from their grasp to focus on slowly hiking your skirt up your hips, only stopping once he can tease the outline of your underwear. Groaning, you kiss him harder as you begin gradually rolling your hips against his, using his shoulders for leverage. You can feel his arousal growing harder and more prominent below you. You’re not in much better shape, panties nearly soaked to the point of being uncomfortable.

 

Tony moans when you split away from him, moving one hand to the base of your shirt. “Do you want us to do this now?” you ask softly, tugging on the bottom of your shirt to emphasize your point. “I want to, but we can always wait, especially if you want me to stick around.”

 

“I’d really rather not _wait_ , if it’s all the same to you. Not with you moving around on me like that, _thanks_ ,” Tony growls, ripping the piece of clothing from your hand and tossing it over your head with one fluid motion. You nearly choke when he pins you to the couch with your wrists restrained above your shoulders. He rotates his hips sharply against yours making both of you cry out as you arch your back.

 

His lips move to devour your neck after he finally lets you go, teeth and tongue working in tandem to find your weakest points. Helplessly, you wrap your arms around his head as you tangle your legs with his, desperate to keep any friction you can on your core. He pulls your bra straps from your shoulders and leaves a trail of bite marks after them, soothing each one with a kiss or swipe of his tongue. You manage to get enough control over yourself to slip one of your hands down his back to pull his shirt up; he stops lavishing his attention on you for long enough to allow you to pull it up over his head before descending on you again.

 

“Not fair,” you whine in objection as you drop the article of clothing over the side of the couch, now lost with your own. He presses his lips to the dip between your breasts, and then to your clavicle, before staring at you with a lust-filled curiosity.

 

“What’s not fair, princess?” he wonders, hips stilling long enough to give you a reprieve that’s both a blessing and a curse. You wiggle restlessly beneath him, finally managing to hook your fingers into the button on his pants, getting it to pop open. The zipper follows shortly after it.

 

“How are you so _amazing_? So good at all the science stuff, saving the world, and now you’ve literally charmed the pants off of me. And god, can you _feel_ how wet I am? You’ve done that to me! How did I get so lucky? Who am I to deserve this?” You bite your lip as you look up at him, pressing your soaked heat against him to show him exactly what you mean. You watch his face become bright crimson as he pushes back against you, leaning over to cage you in against the couch. He kisses you so fiercely, so passionately that it takes your breath away, and the moan that leaves your throat is nothing short of needy.

 

With some struggling from the both of you, Tony successfully kicks his pants and boxers away, somehow never breaking away from you. With surprisingly roughness, his hands find your breasts at long last, palming them heavily through the material of your bra. Instinctively, you curve your back upwards to encourage his touch. He rolls them with expert precision, fingertips pulling the cups away to expose them and tease at your nipples. You gasp when he runs a thumb over one, catching it between a forefinger and tweaking it before letting it fall away.

 

His arms disappear behind your bowed back as the constricting fabric of your bra is discarded in only a moment’s notice; his mouth lands at the swell of one of your breasts, tongue laving downward until one of your nipples disappear into his mouth. Swirling it around the wet muscle, he gives it the gentlest suck as his other hand comes up to repeat the movements on your opposite breast. Your fingers thread through his hair, massaging his scalp as you moan your praises.

 

Tony grazes his teeth gently over the sensitive bud within the hot cavern of his mouth, humming with satisfaction when you let out a soft keen. Your other breast fills up his hand nicely; he flicks his thumb across your nipple in approval prior to pinching it playfully. He then swaps positions, the saliva left behind from his mouth making his fingers’ attention that much more intense as you writhe beneath him.

 

When he finally gives you a break, leaving a wet peck on one peak as he does so, he looks back up at you through dark lashes. His hands fall to your hips, pressing down on them firmly as he trails open-mouthed kisses lower on your stomach, stopping just above your pubic bone. You can feel his hot breath trailing along your lower stomach and thighs, teasing you and causing you to shiver.

 

“You want to know who you are to deserve this? You’re the woman that saves me every single day,” Tony states so bluntly and earnestly it nearly leaves you in a state of shock. He lowers his face until he’s nearly level with your sex, grazing his teeth over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His fingers drag downward from your hips, pulling your ruined underwear with them. “I’m going to return the favor in any way that I can. However you need me, I’ll be there, princess.”

 

And then his talented mouth is on you. He licks a heavy, precise stripe up your folds and stops at your clit, tongue circling it teasingly. You cry out when he finally applies pressure to it, throwing your head back as your hands scrabble for purchase on his shoulders. His fingers catch yours, knotting them together with one hand and forcing them down against your hips to keep you held in place. He sucks that delicate bundle of nerves into his mouth and you can’t help yourself when your legs clamp down on his head.

 

His free hand spreads you wide, a single finger delving deep into you. A second and third join it after feeling how slick and ready you are, curling and twisting upward in a way that’s already making you see stars. Restlessly and already so close to coming, you try to buck your hips against his face as he pistons his fingers into you, but Tony manages to keep you in place. You whimper in frustration and you hear him chuckle, the vibration of it against you so overwhelming and sudden that it sends you over the edge nearly screaming. The billionaire finger-fucks you through it, slowing only when your legs give out and you collapse back against the sofa.

 

He sits back on his knees, mouth glistening as he licks your come off of his lips and fingers with a pleased smirk, other hand still tangled with yours. You look up at him with half-lidded, lust-blown eyes as you bite your bottom lip, already trying to squeeze your legs together at the sight of his tantalizing debauchery. When he releases you and hovers over you to grab at your waist, your on his cock in a second, fingers wrapping around it as it weeps precome.

 

Tony chokes, buckling in on himself and resting nearly all of his weight on you as his hips stutter into your hand. You fist his cock casually, enjoying the feel of it beneath your fingers and the way that it grows gradually slicker as you spread his arousal over it. His mouth is open as he takes deep, shallow breaths, trying to remain in control. You flutter your lashes as you look up at him through them, his brown eyes locking onto your own—you can’t help yourself then, pumping him a bit faster until they roll back into his skull.

 

“Princess, you’re gonna have to stop if you want us to have fun,” he groans as he regains himself, nearly falling atop you, neither of you able to peel your eyes away as you work your hands over him. You hum playfully, a broad grin breaking out across your flushed face.

 

“Oh, _I’m_ having plenty of fun,” you giggle back, watching him involuntarily thrust into your hand. He grabs at your wrist, stopping your movements as you pout up at him. “But I wanted to watch you come.”

 

Tony leans down, wrapping your legs around his waist as he lines himself up with your entrance. “You will,” he whispers huskily, nuzzling into your hair. He pushes himself into you with almost no resistance or stretch, both of you sighing in pleasure when he finally bottoms out. In cyclical harmony, the two of you begin rolling your hips against one another. Tony laces the fingers of one hand with yours, using his other hand for balance as he rests his forehead against your own.

 

“Fuck, you’re so wet and _hot_ ,” he murmurs in a moan against your lips. You whimper, sliding your free hand down between your bodies to play with your clit. Tony’s hitting you in all the right ways, but you’re already _so close_. “Greedy,” he says with approval once he notices, kissing you tenderly. “I love it.”

 

“ _Tony_ ,” you groan when you feel yourself tightening around his dick, unable to keep a hold of yourself. He takes a sharp inhale of breath, not quite a gasp, and speeds up his movements, wanting to help push you along. You come with an overwhelming burst, your orgasm crashing over you so violently that you’re nearly shaking as you cling to him and repeat his name. He slows his movements when he sees you start to become uncomfortable, though you can tell he’s struggling by the sweat trailing down his temple.

 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters as he kisses you until you’re quiet, your soft cries still escaping your lips as you shake against him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bury your face in his neck, pressing your mouth to his pulse point.

 

“You feel so good in me,” you tell him, unable to keep your praise in. You begin moving your hips up against him again. “I’m ready, baby.”

 

The moment he begins to move again, it’s a brutal and relentless pace. You clench down around him, so sensitive and eager as he gets louder with his cries and sloppier with his thrusts. Biting down on his collarbone, he shudders and his hips jerk against your own before he grinds and bears down on you roughly—once, twice, three times—

 

“I need it,” you whisper desperately against his neck, licking a path up the column of his throat. “I need you to come for me, Tony.” He groans so loud it sounds almost painful as he ruts against you a final time and you can feel his release as it spills inside of you. You make a pleased sound as you lay out under him, only to gasp when his thumb finds its way to your clit, circling it until you’re tumbling over the edge again.

 

“Tony!” You say his name with a hint of ire even as it’s broken by your sobs of pleasure. He pulls you up into his arms and pushes his mouth against yours until you kiss him back, running his hands all over your body.

 

“Thank god,” he grunts after the two of you part. You roll your eyes and snuggle up to him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Okay, we seriously need to go shower—and then I need to burn this couch. It’s seen too many things; it’ll never be the same.”

 

“I would normally tell you that you’re overreacting, but this time I have to agree,” you admit, chuckling as you stand, gesturing at the mess you’ve left in your wake.

 

“Mr. Stark, Miss (L/N), your order arrived nearly twenty minutes ago. I’ve had Miss Maximoff and Vision holding onto it while you were busy,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. states pleasantly over the intercom, a bit of coy snark in the end of her sentence. You flush pink, fleeing for the bathroom as Tony laughs heartily.

 

“Thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y., tell them we will be down for it shortly.”

 

* * *

 

“Peter, I know the first day of school is scary, but you’re a superhero that kicks ass with the best of them. If you keep it in perspective like that, it’s really not such a big deal,” you chuckle as you pull up in front of his school. He nervously fondles the straps of his backpack, his eyes wide as he stares out at the building from the passenger’s seat of your car.

 

“You don’t understand, it’s like being fed to the sharks,” he replies quickly, checking over his outfit for what was at least the thirtieth time since you picked him up. “Besides, MJ said she’d be waiting for me.”

 

“I also went to high school, you know, so I kind of do understand. Especially about the whole secret mutant trying to pretend to be a normal teenager thing. And you don’t have anything to worry about, you’re swole as fuck with an adorable baby face. MJ’s chill, just don’t try too hard, okay?” You reach over and open the door for him, giving him a pat on the hand. He takes the opportunity to pull you into a hug, which you eagerly accept.

 

“You’re always right about these things,” he sighs heavily, finally unbuckling his seatbelt and sending a forlorn look back to the school. “Are we still on for this afternoon?” His voice turns hopeful as he gives you his trademark puppy dog eyes.

 

“You know it, kid. We’re totally gonna crash Tony’s workshop and I’m gonna show you how everything works. It’s gonna be great!” You beam at him and he cheers, getting the boost he needs to get out of the car. You blow him a kiss and he takes off running.

 

“Bye, mom!” he calls over his shoulder, and you fumble with your keys. They hit the floor of the vehicle, making a disjointed clinking sound as they bang together.

 

Mom. Peter called you mom. Your face turns hot as you scramble to grab your keys out from under your seat, desperate to escape this embarrassing situation even as you try to convince yourself that you’re not incredibly pleased that the little slip-up happened.

 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.!” you yell as you get into the Avengers’ complex, breathing heavily from having sprinted all the way across the entire structure from the parking lot. “Where’s Tony?”

 

“Mr. Stark is in your apartment. He has been awaiting your return; he said something about going out to dinner,” she replies helpfully. You give her your thanks as you mash the button to Tony’s suite from the elevator—it hadn’t taken long for the two of you to move in together after you both had realized that you felt the same way, especially since Tony seemed to take personal offense at the thought of you continuing to live in a guest apartment when his is much, much nicer. And since almost all of your free time had been spent together anyway, it had just made sense. You still maintain an apartment off-site, but that’s mostly for work unrelated to the other Avengers.

 

All of that was almost two months ago now, though. Things had only gotten easier and more comfortable since then, although you had certainly had some reservations when Tony had told you that he had wanted to start taking you—the real you—with him to public events. You had tried to argue at first, of course, because your reputation was certainly something you didn’t want associated with Stark Industries or The Avengers for anything other than work; it wasn’t hard to dig up your dirty laundry, after all, and you didn’t want to give them anymore bad press than what they already got.

 

He didn’t want to hear any of it, though. He even managed to convince you into trying, and the first time you stepped out on the red carpet, you had felt so naked. There had been quite a scandal, but Tony had openly declared his love for you in a long and calculated PR stunt—much to your surprise. The rest of the Avengers backed you up without any hesitation and, after discussing it with you, Steve had announced that you had taken a permanent position on the team. When the shit storm had finally died down, things had become strangely...nice.

 

You’d been wrong all along. They _are_ willing to go to bat for you.

 

“Tony!” you cry as you nearly collapse into the apartment you share with him. He hurries over to you, worry creasing his brow as he draws you into his arms. He runs his fingers through your hair and narrows his eyes at you.

 

“Are you being dramatic right now or is this serious?” he asks with a healthy dose of suspicion. It certainly wasn’t the first—and wouldn’t be the last—time you’ve dropped in on him like this.

 

“Peter called me _mom_!” you gasp as you grab onto his shoulders, looking at your boyfriend with round, wide eyes.

 

He raises a thick, manicured eyebrow at you. “So? He calls me dad from time to time. It happens,” he responds easily, dismissing your concerns. You shake him gently, rocking on the balls of your feet, trying not to allow yourself to bounce giddily.

 

“No, you don’t understand, he’s _never_ called me mom! It was so weird! And I kind of liked it!”

 

Tony smirks, analyzing your face for a moment. “Oh no,” he drawls, bringing you closer to him, “I guess that means we have to get married? I mean, I _am_ his dad, and if you’re his mom…” Your face turns bright red, your mouth hanging open. You certainly did not expect the conversation to turn to this, of all things. You just wanted to share this weird and happy experience.

 

“Do—Do you mean that? Are you serious?” you stutter, fidgeting nervously in his arms. He pulls you in close to him, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as he nuzzles the crown of your head.

 

“Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t, princess, and I’ll buy you any ring you want. But there’s no pressure, I swear. Besides, if the kid finds out I proposed because of him, he’ll get a big head.” You practically cling to Tony, burying your face into his chest as you try to keep the tears from leaking from your eyes, your thoughts running a mile a minute.

 

You came from a broken family, torn apart from the inside, and a messed up past. But one person gave you a weird, fucked up chance, but a chance nonetheless, and now you’ve ended up here. Surrounded by people that love and support you, with a man that thinks you’re his whole world, and a kid that let slip that he considers you to be like a mother to him. Maybe things have turned out better than you deserve, but you aren’t going to squander what you’ve been given. Like hell you aren’t.

 

“Damn, how did I get so lucky?” you whisper against Tony’s chest, making him chuckle softly as you tuck your hands into his back pockets. “Yes, please, I want nothing more than to marry you, Tony Stark.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr at http://rynmoirai.tumblr.com/ if you'd like to see more! ♥ :)


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